Five A.M.
Looming ahead of Enrique Degollar was a day from hell, heralded by the shrieking fire alarm. His whole body ached as he lurched out of bed, coughing, loping out the room and down the hall to grab his squalling infant daughter. The huge man halted at the empty, blue-painted crib. He put a hand to his head to stop its spinning, but the piercing wail of the smoke detector kept everything scrambled. He stared at the dog bed in the corner, where Rex remained fast asleep. How was he doing that? Enrique stumbled next into the kitchen, where his wife cradled the screaming child in one arm, wielding a spatula in the other. He slapped at the plastic disc high up on the wall, fumbling for the "Shut Up" button. "--Something in the oven?" He croaked, amazed at how wretched his voice sounded. Elizabeth Degollar nodded like a zombie, pushing eggs around a pan while a bottle of formula rotated in the microwave. Glancing at her sunken eyes and red nose, Enrique wondered if she'd caught the baby's flu. He staggered back to their bedroom, peeling off his basketball team-themed t-shirt full of holes and flipping on their bathroom light. He caught an image of himself in the mirror. Jesus, he looked like shit. His bedside alarm sounded, and he started to heave a weary sigh, but it morphed halfway through into a hacking cough. For some reason, rust chugged out of the showerhead. Somewhere in between pulling on his last clean work shirt and searching for his keys while bouncing the fussing baby in his free arm, he remembered that it was him. He'd caught the baby's flu, and the crone in the office told him he was out of sick days, even though he -knew- he had two left. Well, that was fine, he hoped he was contagious. Couldn't find his wedding ring. The milk had turned, though they just bought it yesterday. He handed little Margarita back to Lisa, and embraced them both. Lisa waved their baby's chubby arm at him, uttering an exhausted "Bye-bye, daddy." "Bye, babe. Bye, Rita." They'd just saved up enough to afford a new, used sedan. It was a practical decision, but he felt claustrophobic every time he slid into the seat. He coughed at the grey steering wheel and turned his key, but it only clicked forward. No, he prayed. Come on. He tried again, but it wouldn't start; the lights weren't even turning on. Enrique rolled up his sleeves and popped the hood, checking the battery, as if it might have strolled off in the night. Fuck, he didn't know anything about cars. From around the thick trunk of the tree in their yard, an older man strolled up the driveway, nothing but concern on his smiling face. "You having some car trouble there, mister?" "I--... Yeah, it won't start. Lights aren't coming on or anything. That's probably the battery, right? I'm still early for work, but I don't have a lot of time." Enrique squinted at the newcomer. He was dressed casually, in worn, old clothes, like an old country guy out for a stroll. Chipper grin with deep smile lines. He seemed to exude good will. "Yeah, might be that." He spoke sort of quietly, Enrique had to tilt his head to hear him. "You're lucky I happened by, I know a thing or two about cars, and the mechanic just up the road owes me a favor. I'll see if I can't get him to look at it for you." "Oh, no, I couldn't accept that kind of help from you, Mister...?" "Hey, no worries, it's no trouble of mine." The Samaritan shrugged, failing to give his name. "No, really, it's fine. I can just call someone to pick me up." "Now, not another word, I insist. I'll call him right now. Do you folks have a phone I could use?" Enrique hesitated. He didn't recognize the man at all, but the stranger knew he had a family. He relaxed in the next instant; the guy probably noticed the baby's car seat. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, in the house. Let me show you." "I'll find it, don't trouble yourself." He turned toward the house. Enrique beat him to it, and held open the door. "Lisa," He called inside, "There's someone who needs to borrow the phone." The stranger ducked in, and Enrique jumped when he realized he'd lost sight of him. The fuck? He looked in the kitchen, where the phone dangled off the hook. The'' fuck?'' He glanced in the living room, where, for a moment, it seemed like the walls were bleeding something dark, but were normal in the next instant. Water was running behind him, so he hurried back to the kitchen. The phone was back on the hook, but blood was rushing out of the faucet, all over the sink full of dishes. He crossed the linoleum floor and reached out, disbelieving. It coated his fingers, hot and red. He pushed the lever down, but it resisted. His grip slipped, smearing it all over even as it splashed onto the countertop. Rita and Lisa. "Lisa, Lisa!" Enrique barreled past their daughter's closed door. They never closed her door. He caught himself on the knob, yanking and trying to turn it. "Open the door, OPEN THIS DOOR!" A horrible smell hit him and he gagged; the reek of animal decay. Elizabeth appeared from their bedroom, sinching her bath robe and trotting over. "The hell are you--?" She looked down in horror, her slippers were rimmed in red, squelching in soaked carpet. It took an eternity. Enrique slammed his full weight into the door, breaking it open. Rita lay in her crib, still and silent, despite the buzzing coming from everywhere. The stranger wasn't here. "Babe, I need you to g--" It zipped by his ear and he swatted at it. A fly the size of his thumbnail. The room was full of flies. When he turned, he found the source of the stench. On the dog's bed was a heap of matted wads of fur and shredded limbs, crawling with maggots. Rex's paws were gone, his head was gone; he looked like he'd been turned inside-out where he lay. Glimmering in the middle of all the gore and the flies was Enrique's lost wedding ring. "Get out of the house," His voice wasn't his own as he hefted Rita out of the crib, "We need to get out of the house." The car started just fine. They drove to Lisa's parents' place, and borrowed their phone to call the police. A few hours later, the couple were back in their own home. There was no one in the house, the cops told them, and no dead dog, either, though Rex wasn't anywhere to be found. Elizabeth told him he'd overreacted, that she hadn't seen anything. Enrique went into work late, and ended up staying late. Characters involved in this Chronicle: Rita Degollar, Enrique Degollar Category:Fiction